


but your presence

by templemarker



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: Toussaint in winter was as excessively beautiful as in every other season, with an added veneer of "good cheer" and general friendliness that made Geralt even more committed to dodging the incessant invitations and uninvited visitors which somehow increased during the wintering Season.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 3
Kudos: 167
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	but your presence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dsudis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



> Set some years after the end of "Blood and Wine".
> 
> Dira, this one's for you -- family/relationshippy cuteness IN THE FUTURE. I hope you enjoy it, and the holidays. <3

Toussaint in winter was as excessively beautiful as in every other season, with an added veneer of "good cheer" and general friendliness that made Geralt even more committed to dodging the incessant invitations and uninvited visitors which somehow increased during the wintering Season. 

He'd survived the initial five winters by strategically taking contracts that would put him far afield of his estate; in the first year, he hadn't quite realized that the people showing up in enthusiastic trickles and then intensely eager droves were there to see _him_. Geralt figured there was some kind of tradition he wasn't aware of -- pretty standard, running up against regional cultural standards he didn't bother to grasp -- and hid in the west sub-basement where he'd begun to construct the basics of an alchemy laboratory. 

It wasn't until Barnabas-Basil had ultimately braved Geralt's current half-hearted experiments with incorporating dimeritium into a Dancing Star bomb that Geralt really clocked that all those idiots were there in an attempt to visit the head of the house. B.B. had knocked cautiously but loudly against the sub-basement door, carefully maneuvering a thick stack of invitations written on creamy paper that caught on his callouses. Geralt had almost been bewildered enough to make it up the stairs to the cellars before he realized B.B. was talking about Geralt somehow _entertaining_ these fools, at which point Geralt clapped him on the shoulder, dropped the invitations onto a nearby bench, and definitely did not run back down to his lab. He merely walked swiftly like a confident Witcher, and if he locked the door behind him and then also shoved a door under the handle, well, he was being thoughtful with his safety. 

Within twelve hours Geralt had ridden out in the dead of night, heading north towards Temeria and whatever monsters he could find there. It had remained an effective plan every winter since, if refined by leaving earlier and earlier into the Season's start each year. 

If Geralt really thought about it, he would have liked to winter as they once had in Kaer Morhan. He hadn't made it up the mountains every year -- distance, injury, the snows, and any number of other reasons had kept him from returning to the Wolf's Keep over the years. Still, most of his winters had been spent in Kaer Morhan, even as fewer and fewer Witchers returned from the Path. 

Now, of course, Kaer Morhan's already crumbling walls were buried beneath irreparable rubble and a rime of deadly frost that would suffer no spell to end it. With Vesemir laid to rest, and the main keep ruined, Kaer Morhan sat like a spectre of itself, only living on in the minds of the few Witchers left alive to know it. 

The sound of footsteps approaching made Geralt shake off the memory and what melancholy came with it, and he immediately started rubbing oil into the length of his fourth-favorite steel sword as if he totally hadn't been caught in a reverie, staring into the hearthfire of the study blankly. 

The door opened, and Eskel wandered in, a book in one hand and an apple in the other; he had a carafe of wine hooked under one arm and two goblets tucked in the vees of his fingers. Geralt could smell that sharp salty cheese Marlene had procured earlier in the year. 

"Well?" Eskel asked pointedly, "are you going to help or what?"

"Aren't you some kind of master witcher?" Geralt teased, setting the sword and oiled rag aside to take the wine and glasses from Eskel. "Surely you can handle a little awkward carrying, Wolf School!"

Eskel snorted and joined him to sit on the well-worn couch in front of the fire. "I'm on vacation, and also, fuck off."

Geralt laughed quietly as he poured for them both. 

Eskel squinted. "Are those mine? Have you been working on my swords as well as your own?"

Geralt definitely had been doing that; Eskel, in the last year, had taken to storing the gear he had accumulated at Corvo Bianco, in a workroom Geralt had set up for him without telling Eskel it was, in fact, for him. Eskel's things began to migrate more and more with every return he made to the estate. While Eskel could care perfectly well for his own swords and weaponry, Geralt felt compelled to check everything himself, finding little to repair even as he cleaned and oiled and prepared each one for the work it would see. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Geralt said, taking a long pull of his wine and strategically moving Eskel's very favorite mace to rest against the outside of the couch instead of by his knee. 

Eskel gave him a side eye, tugging the cheese from one pocket and a hank of fresh bread from the other. He put some together, handing one to Geralt and eating the other. "I totally believe you," Eskel said, deadpan, and tugged Geralt to fall backwards against the back of the couch, Eskel's arm draped around Geralt's shoulders, familiar and warm and cared for. 

"Do you miss wintering in Kaer Morhan?" Geralt asked, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Eskel gave the thought due consideration, then shrugged. "Somewhat," he said. "It got harder, these last few decades, to return and find out who had died, to see Vesemir there without any company beyond the ghosts. After battling those eleven douchebags, and losing Vesemir, it didn't seem like a place to go back to anymore. It felt like a memory."

Geralt didn't say anything, but Eskel knew him too well, running his big hand up into Geralt's hair, tugging the loose braid free to skritch gently at Geralt's scalp. 

"Besides," Eskel continued. "You may by all keen on taking every challenge to live rough and make it through, but I am very fond of my creature comforts," he said, waving the hand with his wine goblet around the room, the fine tapestries on the walls, the roaring fire, the squishy couch. 

And perhaps he meant Geralt, too. 

"Mmm," Geralt murmured, letting himself sag more into Eskel's side. This wasn't too bad, really. As long as there were enough locked doors between them and the rest of the world.


End file.
